


serve

by momo314



Series: target panic [1]
Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pseudo-Incest, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 00:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18883984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momo314/pseuds/momo314
Summary: Isshin meets his future grandson in a rural village (and promptly has sex with him).





	serve

**Author's Note:**

> Idk exactly how underage Genichiro is in this fic but he's definitely younger than 15, so consider yourself warned.  
> Also he goes by Genda here, for reasons that are eventually made obvious.

The first time he sees Lord Isshin Ashina, it’s on the battlefield. Genda had heard the rumors of his conquest to take back the land, of course, had wanted to believe them, the way a child wants to believe that righteousness always triumphs over evil. It isn’t until he lays eyes on that indomitable figure clashing against other armored warriors twice his size and coming out the victor still that Genda feels those rumors might be true.

It shouldn’t be a surprise when Lord Isshin’s forces decide to use the small village nearby as a camp, to recuperate until their next deployment. Genda’s uncle doesn’t care for soldiers, no matter what flag they fly under, but the same can’t be said for himself. Isshin is unlike any of the brigades that killed so many of their countrymen, is every bit the Sword Saint the stories told. The village has hardly anything to spare, but Isshin does not ask for more than water and shelter. Rather than using force to take from the peasants for his own devices, he is determined to bring Ashina back into the hands of its people.

Genda spends the nights outside the perimeter of Isshin’s campfire, listening as he talks with his men. The sound of his laughter echoes, loud and full, making him feel unlike anything else. Isshin claims the midnight watch for himself, sipping on a small cup of sake as he stares into the dark sky. But trying to hide from the greatest swordsman this side of the mountains is a fruitless endeavor, even when Genda’s as still as the tall grass, watching Isshin’s form. Suddenly, that intense gaze shifts to the spot where Genda’s hiding. He resists the urge to flee, instead freezing where he is, hoping to be overlooked.

Lord Isshin only laughs. “Eavesdropping again, boy? Why don’t you show yourself for once?”

It would be unthinkable for him to refuse, even if punishment is what awaits him. Steeling himself, he stands, walking forward into the light. It isn’t punishment that he receives, in the soft glow of firelight. Instead, Isshin grins widely, and inclines his head. “Come, I could use someone to pour my sake.”

It’s a strange thing for a peasant boy to hear, an honor and a test at once. “Yes, sir.” Genda has poured alcohol for his uncle and his friends before, knows how to carefully and quickly fill Isshin’s sake cup high without spilling a drop, and pay attention to the small signs that signal he’s ready for a refill. Sitting solemnly at Isshin’s side, he gently bows his head when his cup empties and asks, “More, sir?”

Simply being next to the man who is the future of Ashina is nerve-wrecking enough, but Genda holds himself together. He does not stare the way he did when he was hidden, does not tense up to show his trepidation when he feels Isshin’s gaze on his face.

“You have good eyes, boy,” Lord Isshin says. There’s something in his voice, more than acknowledgment. Genda raises his eyes, looking upon Isshin’s face for the first time so close. From here, he can see the worn lines around his eyes, the creases at his mouth symbolizing joy, the heavy brow of one who was shouldered with an incredible fate. He is fixed on trying to read those lines when Isshin’s fingers fan underneath his chin. In a reversal, Isshin tilts his head into the light so that he may fully examine Genda’s features instead.

The edge in his gaze is one he’s experienced a few times before, from passers-by or bandits, but never this tangible. There is no one out here tonight to direct that attention away, yet Genda feels calm underneath it, even as Lord Isshin’s grip tightens and his eyes wander. Of the rumors he’s heard about Isshin, there are those kinds as well. That he is shameless, bold, and sees no issue with pursuing who he wants, no matter allegiance or obligation. Genda inwardly wonders what he could possibly do, if Lord Isshin doesn’t want to let him go.

But that thought isn’t what makes Genda accept that warm gaze. Whether it’s a flicker of hope or a strange desire to reach into a strong flame, he finds himself thinking that he would like to stay here, at Isshin’s side. That if anyone could save Ashina, it is him, and Genda would do anything in his power to aid him, to become more than a peasant boy watching his battles from afar. “Lord Isshin.” He tries to make his voice soft and even, but it comes out in a nervous, harsh whisper. “If you permit it… I, Genda, would like to serve you.”

Charisma aside, anyone would view Lord Isshin as very handsome, his body firm and well-muscled, forged with strength and technique. It hurts less than Genda thought it would, when Isshin presses himself against his backside with only his spit to ease the way. Arms curl around his waist, holding Genda in place. Isshin's cock grinds into his body until it turns almost pleasurable, and Genda's breath heightens alongside his.

Lord Isshin takes what he needs and gives it back, so graciously cupping Genda in hand, dragging his palm over his length and the soft sack nestled beneath. Combined with the sensation of his cock deep inside him, Genda's body begins to tremble and his voice unfetters. Though Lord Isshin surely could go until morning, he stops after coming once. Before Genda can wonder if he’s done something to offend him, Isshin’s lips touch his neck, low voice rumbling with something far from rejection.

Genda straightens his clothes and returns home, the ache and stickiness between his legs easy to ignore when he thinks of Isshin’s murmured words: I will call for you again.

Lord Isshin does, of course. Genda should know better than to doubt the Sword Saint himself, but it’s still a surprise when Isshin’s eyes meet his later and his grinning lips form the word ‘tonight.’ Genda’s stomach tightens, and he nods in return. Whether it is from anxiousness or excitement, the thought of going to Lord Isshin’s side preoccupies his mind all day.

In his tent, Isshin shares some of his old stories with each cup of sake. His hand presses against Genda’s waist as he speaks. Genda can’t help the way his shoulders stiffen when that hand slips down to cup his backside, but it becomes easier to suppress the instinct through the night. When the time comes for Isshin to untie his belt, Genda finds himself relaxing into his touch. He doesn’t flinch one bit, as Isshin lays him out onto his stomach, and makes him stay until day breaks over the horizon.

When Genda disembarks from Isshin’s tent, body stiff and disheveled, no one is naive enough to mistake what he’s done. Genda doesn’t care what the village, or even his uncle, thinks of him. After all, he knows what it feels like to have revolution in his grasp, if only for a night.

The days pass by in a blur, and Genda enters Lord Isshin’s tent whenever he can. He pours Isshin’s sake until the jug is empty, lets Isshin touch him for as long as he likes, embraces it. It seems too soon before Isshin’s stay comes to an end and his army prepares to move out in the morning. Barely more than a week has passed, but Genda feels himself changed, his desolate weariness replaced with hope and determination. A part of him wonders, how much further can he change if he stays by this man?

“Ah! Tonight’s sake is quite impressive…" This time, Lord Isshin insists that Genda partakes alongside him, instead of only serving it. Looking into the reflection of the candlelight in his cup, Genda has mixed feelings, knowing that Isshin’s tent will be long gone next evening. He takes a slow sip, enjoying the slight burn of the alcohol and the clear, sweet flavor on his tongue.

“I think you will enjoy yourself tonight, boy,” Isshin says when the sake is finished, humming to himself. Genda should know by now to take Lord Isshin at his word. Rather than saliva, he coats his fingers with some sort of oil, wet and slippery and warming Genda to the core then they push inside his ass. Almost testing, Isshin’s fingers curl and stroke against his internal walls, seeking the sensitive spot he always managed to find with the length of his cock. Genda lets out a small gasp as his body tenses up, then groans as Isshin prods it again. A deep laugh wells up from Isshin’s chest at his reaction, but Genda can’t find the sense to be embarrassed about it—not when his thick fingers keep moving.

It’s as if Genda is an instrument being played by Isshin, the way his body writhes into his skillful motions. He almost wants to tell Lord Isshin to stop—though he would never dare—when his stomach tightens up and his breath catches low in his throat, and he can hardly breathe. Isshin laughs when he comes on his fingers, the special treatment as much of a delight for him as Genda. “Just as I thought.”

Genda knows to expect his cock next, but it feels so different sliding into his thoroughly coaxed muscles. Rather than an ache to endure, the thickness fills him with an intense sensation he can hardly begin to describe. “Lord Isshin,” Genda hears himself saying, begging. Isshin thrusts his hips, making Genda lose any train of thought at all, drowned in the physicality alone. Isshin’s arms are strong, keeping him upright in his lap, their bodies connecting at that deliriously sensitive spot. It isn’t long before Genda is moving by himself, grinding his hips down on Lord Isshin’s cock. The way his eyes crinkle with approval is as gratifying as the warmth spreading through his body.

Genda loses track of how many times Lord Isshin takes him to the brink that night, eventually passing out, exhausted, against Isshin’s chest.

Consciousness comes in the early morning darkness, as Isshin rolls away from his body to dress himself. “Up, boy," that commanding voice greets. "Unless you want to be wrapped up in my tent and brought along as a set.” Isshin is awfully amused with the image, chuckling aloud. Genda would laugh, too, if it didn’t sound so appealing. If he could be carried away from here to join Isshin, that would suit him just fine. It must be written clearly on his face, because Isshin only observes him for a moment before saying, “Oh? You look as thought you want to accompany me.”

Genda’s heart skips a beat. The uncle who reluctantly took him in after his mother’s death had always hoped for his burden to disappear. There is nothing holding Genda to this small village, and left on his own, he knows he would soon end up following Isshin’s trail anyway. He nods.

Isshin’s voice lowers slightly. “Then, you wish to serve me?”

Those were the words Genda had spoken that first night, but it isn’t quite the truth. If attending Isshin and warming his bed, perhaps, it would be enough, but Genda wants more than those things. He wants to stand by the Sword Saint’s side and embrace the ideal he seeks, to see him free their land from her bonds and ensure she will never be controlled again. It takes a moment to gather all the sentiments in his mind and boil them down into one clear desire. When Genda open his mouth, his voice is firm. “I wish to serve Ashina, sir.”

The answer isn’t quite one Isshin expects. His eyebrows raise high and there comes the boisterous laugh Genda has come to expect and adore, as he claps his hand heavy on Genda’s shoulder. “Then you shall, little Genichiro.”

The relief at being accepted overwhelms him initially, so much so that the second half of Isshin’s words register far later than they ought to. “Genichiro?” Once it does, the name slips out with hesitation.

“Yes, Genichiro Ashina. I’ve decided to call you as such.” The full name startles him to the core, heart beat thumping loudly in his ears, drowning out any noise. At his silence, Isshin asks, “Do you dislike it?”

Genda—no, Genichiro raises his head, meeting Isshin’s sight head on. “No, Lord Isshin. I will become worthy of the name Ashina, I swear.”

Grasping Genichiro’s chin, Isshin stares back deeply into his face, as if to determine whether he truly had the capacity to do such a thing. The hairs on the back of Genichiro’s neck rise with the momentary thought that Lord Isshin will take it all back—but that fear just hardens his resolve and steels his gaze. Isshin’s lips slowly spread into a grin, showing his teeth, and he nods.

“As I thought… You have good eyes, Genichiro.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have far too many thoughts for potential continuations, so I might write more IsshiGen if the mood strikes. Let me know if you're interested?


End file.
